


Nothing

by Wicked_Wayward_Warrior



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, Depression, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Queer Character, Reader-Insert, Season/Series 15 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Wayward_Warrior/pseuds/Wicked_Wayward_Warrior
Summary: Reader is in the middle of a depressive episode following the events of 15x19. Sam and Dean find her in a bar and offer her comfort.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 15





	Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling really depressed the last few days, so I figured I'd put it into a little comfort fic. Hope it helps someone else too.

Her fingers slipped across the condensation covered beer bottle as she drew it to her lips. It was a craft brew that she never had before and figured it wouldn't hurt to try something new. She swirled her tongue as the sour notes exploded on her tongue and actively resisted scrunching up her face. As the bronze liquid slid down her throat, she shook her head and replaced the bottle on the counter.

“What d’ya think?” the bartender asked. His dark coils curled around his ears, caught in the thick frames of his glasses. She thought it was cute to see him with a new pair. The old ones were frail and dated, but these fit his slender cheeks and dark eyes so much better.

A faint smile formed on her lips as she gave him a half shrug. “Not bad.”

The bartender rolled his eyes and worked his towel into the mouth of a clean glass. “Not bad? I know it's not your usual, but it's one of the top sellers. And all you've got to say is that it's not bad?”

She offered him a stronger shrug this time, knowing it wouldn't please him. “That's all I've got for you. Sorry.” Her gaze fell to the label of the bottle as her fingers absently peeled through the paper. Tonight, it was less about the taste and more about simply feeling something.

Peering over her shoulder, she took in the sight of the little dive bar she hung out in when she wanted to get away from everything. In one corner, guys in basketball jerseys gathered around the big screen TV and wooden tables cluttered with wings, pizzas, and pints of beer. One woman sat at the end of the table with her eyes glued to her phone, clearly upset that date night turned into a sausage-fest.

On any other night she might have gone over to the woman, chatted her up, shared a couple of drinks, but tonight, it was a feat that she kept herself from turning into a puddle of tears. The bar was often a place of refuge from the worries and concerns of her life. Whether it be from monsters or God himself, she knew she could come here, nibble on some microwaved wings, and evade the cruelties of the world for one evening.

Now, the cloud that hovered over her simply hitched an unwanted ride.

“You want me to grab your usual?” the bartender asked, his voice carrying a hint of pity as he set the glass down on the shelf behind him.

She shook her head, raising the bottle to her lips again. “No. I'll take a shot of tequila though. Make it two.”

“Ten-four.”

She closed her eyes, letting the gulp of beer fill her mouth. Her shoulder sagged as she leaned on the top of the counter, pulling the leather of her jacket taut around her arms. Defeat clung to her, cutting creases between her brows, forcing her lips into a sullen frown. Nothing, in particular, had been wrong, she just felt a sense of sadness that seemed to follow her around like a puppy.

The case she worked earlier in the week was an easy salt-and-burn. A spirit wanted justice for an unpunished murder, as they did, and went on a rampage dragging the living down to hell with them until they got what they wanted. She couldn't blame the spirit for wanting revenge. In life, they constantly lived in terror and wanted nothing more than to find peace and happiness, and she hoped now the spirit was at rest, that it could have peace.

She, on the other hand, couldn't taste it no matter how hard she tried. Things that brought her joy made her feel empty. People that made her laugh left a hollow chamber in her chest. Drifting from case to case, city to city, she felt detached, almost as if reality was some kind of mirage and nothing like the real thing.

Desperation curled around her fingers as she took another swig of her beer. She wanted to feel something. She needed to feel something besides feeling alone.

She looked up, giving the bartender a tight smile as he set two shot glasses down in front of her. She opened her mouth to speak a word of thanks when his eyes tracked toward the entrance of the bar. “Welcome, fellas,” he said, rolling his sleeves to his elbows. “Be right with you.”

She followed his eyes and felt her heart sink into her gut. Two broad-shouldered men strolled into the bar, stopping in the walkway. Each of them took a wide sweep of the room until their eyes landed on her. She stiffened and lowered her head as they made their way over to her as if that would make her invisible. She wasn't ready to see them, much less talk to them. They wanted answers, and she had none to give.

She downed the first shot of tequila as they each perched on the stools on either side of her. “We’ve been looking for you,” Dean said, brushing his shoulder against hers.

She rocked a little to the right, nearly making contact with Sam, but avoided it altogether. “Well, you found me,” she muttered as the soothing burn of alcohol hit her chest.

“We were looking everywhere for you,” Sam said, sounding concerned.

“You weren't answering your calls or your texts,” Dean added.

Shrugging, she took down the second shot. She put her phone on “do not disturb” a few days ago and never bothered to turn it off. There was no reason to be on alert, expecting anything. Besides, there was nothing to say to anyone, and nothing she wanted to hear from them either.

“We tracked your car here on traffic cams,” Sam said. “It was the only way we found you.”

She raised her fingers in the air, flagging down the bartender. “Something wrong?” she asked the boys. If they were so desperately trying to find her, surely there was some problem they needed fixing. Or maybe, they finally found a way to get to Cas in the Empty.

“You tell us,” Dean said to her, giving the bartender a charming grin as he tended to them. “Double whiskey. Neat,” he said to the bartender.

“And for you, sir,” he asked of Sam.

“Uh, just a beer for me.”

“You want the one she has?”

She waved her hand, answering for Sam. “No, you don't. I promise you don't. Get him my usual, and I'll take two more shots of tequila.”

“Got it, sugar.” The bartender gave Sam a wink before skipping off the make their drinks.

Sam cleared his throat. “Since when do you order my drinks for me?”

She turned, looking up at him through her lashes. “What, Sam? I thought you liked it when I got all authoritative on your ass.”

He jerked his head to the side, scrunching up his face. “Nope. I think you got me confused with Dean again.”

She twisted her body, flashing Dean an award-winning grin. She expected him to return the favor, to add in the teasing, but instead, his brows were furrowed and his jaw set. “You wanna tell us what the hell is going on?”

“Nothing to say.” She shifted in her seat, adjusting through the uncomfortable tingle running down her leg.

“Four shots of tequila? You don't usually drink like that unless it's real bad. Is it bad?” Through the gruffness of his tone, she sensed the urgency in his question. The Winchesters had seen her through so much, just as she'd been there for them time and time again, but somehow this felt different.

Emptying the bottle of sour beer, she let out a tired sigh. “I don't know, Dean. I guess.”

“You guess?” Dean took her mental health seriously. Nurturer that he was, from the moment she opened up to them about the long list of disorders she’d been diagnosed with, he always checked in on her and made sure she was taken care of, even if it was the last thing she wanted. “Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened.”

“And it doesn't have anything to do with Chuck, does it?” Sam had always been less obsessed with her emotional states, but he cared for her in more subtle ways. Sometimes it was bringing her a cup of her favorite tea when she struggled to get out of bed or inviting her to go for a walk with him instead of his morning runs. Other times, he would simply sit with her, a reminder that she wasn't alone.

Running away to work cases was easier than dealing with this. The boys cared about her—she knew that—but they were supposed to be celebrating a victory, not watching her mope into a bottle of shitty beer. “No, it's not Chuck.”

“You sure?” Dean asked, “‘Cause I know you were on the Kill Chuck train.”

She picked at what was left of the beer label, preferring to focus on the peeling paper than the utter helplessness in their eyes. “I mean, sure. I wanted to see that smarmy rat bite it, but I've come to be amused that he's just walking around without any power. Not to mention the beautiful visual you guys left me with of him falling over himself in the sand begging you guys to go back and save him. I think Gabe would be proud.”

“Then what's got you down?”

The bartender dropped off their drinks and left just as quickly to help some of the other patrons, leaving her to answer the boys' questions. “I wish I knew.”

Sam’s large hand palmed the bottle and he took a swig before letting out a pleased gasp. “No nightmares or flashbacks?”

She shook her head. “Neither. I just...I just feel like my head’s stuck in a fog. Like I'm here, but not really here.”

“You shouldn't have run off by yourself,” Dean chided. “We’re your friends, your family. You don't need to deal with this on your own.”

Family was important to the boys and it was important to her too, but she never wanted to involve them in her moods. Sometimes it was fleeting. Just a blimp in an otherwise unremarkable day. Others were all-consuming, just like things were now. Dealing with them on her own had always been par for the course, and just because Chuck was gone didn't change that for her. Nothing did.

She forced a smile to her lips and met the boys’ fretful glares. “Don't worry about me, boys. I mean, don't you have an angel to save?”

“Don't you mean we?” Dean griped. “Cas is your friend too.”

“I would but...I don't know. I think I might just get in the way.”

“Oh, c’mon. Even on your worst day, you're the best of all of us. Besides, we need you. Cas needs you.”

“Cas needs someone that's useful, and right now, I’m not useful for anything but knocking back a couple shots.”

“What can we do to help?” Sammy asked.

“Dunno. Just don't worry about me. Go save Cas, Dean. And Sam, go get Eileen. I'll be fine. Right here. Rotting away.”

Dean twisted in his seat, forcing her gaze to fix to his. He set his hand on her shoulder, squeezing with an intense comfort that almost made tears burn her eyes. “Or, we stay here tonight. Have a couple drinks, share some laughs. Have a good time. And tomorrow...tomorrow we save Cas.”

She brushed her hand over her hair and leaned back in the seat. “Why don't you just leave me here until I’m myself again?”

Sam offered her a smile that etched tiny grooves in his cheeks. Hope shined in his eyes, making it impossible for her not to feel a little of her own. “We don't leave the people we love. We're not going anywhere until we know you're coming with us, okay?”

Dean softly placed a kiss on her forehead. “So, what d’ya say?”


End file.
